Pichouette

I've never been
more sure of anything:
Her heart tastes
just like blackberry crépes
from a dilapidated diner at 3 AM
after sneaking out
through the basement window.
Her heart tastes
just like black coffee
with a menthol cigarette
bummed
from the boy one table over
who must be
at least 2 years your senior
but who is still
just a boy.
Her heart tastes
just like chocolate milk
in a cold glass
which makes you feel
just a bit too full
but which you do not regret
at the moment.